Hardly the Man My Father Was
by TakeAnother
Summary: The Roaring Twenties.  The Jazz Age.  Speakeasies.  Bootleggers.  Oil.  The Lion King - minus the lions.  Setting:  1920's.
1. Prologue  Speakeasies

Slade Hoffman straightened out his vest, grinning at himself in the glass of the car shop before brushing a stray strand of black hair from his forehead and tucking it in with the rest. His thin lips pulled up in a grin and he pulled the trilby he was wearing farther down over his eyes, continuing on his way down the sidewalk. Polished shoes clicked as he walked, the grin disappearing as his lips puckered in a whistle. He stuffed both hands in his pockets, tilting his head back to stare at the stars above. Soon he was out of the main part of town, the sounds of jazz music and singing dissipating behind him. His pointed noise wiggled as he sniffled, almost certain that there was a cold brewing in the depths of his body. Scowling, he turned to the building he was closest to, pulling open the door. Above the doorway hung a sign that read 'BILLING AND LOAN', illuminated by three lights over it. Bells jingled above him, the sound landing on silence. He smiled to himself and continued inside, past five desks and to the electrical closet. He pushed the door open, his eyes falling on the usual; wrenches, hammers, nails, and cleaning supplies. Pulling the door shut behind him, he turned to his right, where another door handle was bolted to the wall. Twisting and pushing the second door open, he was greeted by a chorus of men calling his name and holding up their mugs. He grinned and tipped his hat.

"Evening, gentlemen," he strode forward and took a seat at the bar, holding up one finger. The man behind the bar nodded and scurried off to get him a drink and he sat back, removing his hat and rubbing his eyes.

"It's pretty late for you to be out, isn't it?" A familiar voice asked and he looked up, a trio sitting only a seat away. He laughed and nodded to the bar tender as he set down his drink and hurried away.

"It's never too late for a cheap drink," he replied, tilting the sweet elixir to his lips. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Depends on how much money you got," the one on the end retorted. "Dumb prohibition's got all this booze costing about a million a pint."

"Oh get over it," he muttered. "Just be grateful you get any. I heard three speakeasies got raided yesterday."

"You're kidding."

"I rarely kid."

"Damn," the man sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. Slade smiled as he pounded the drink back, coughing into his fist. He pulled out a cigar and leaned forward on the bar, only waiting a moment before the bartender came with a lighter. "Don't you have somewhere to be tomorrow?" He asked, looking back up. A slow smile came to Slade's mouth and he took in a deep breath of the smoke before answering.

"But of course. It's the first birthday of my older brother's son," he replied, the smile turning into a bitter sneer. "The little bug is going to have a shot at the oil before me. Can you believe it?" The bartender stopped in front of him, wiping a newly-cleaned mug dry.

"Yeah, I can," he nodded, making the man cringe. "Your brother was born before you and your father left the company to him while you were still in your momma, meaning if anything happened to the brother, he'd leave the company to his son before – "

"Thank you, Johnny," Slade snapped, biting down hard on the cigar. Shrugging impassively, the man behind the bar turned to put the mug away. Burying his face in his hands, Slade let a labored breath out of the side of his mouth, smoke seeping through his lips like dry ice under water. He grumbled to himself as his own mug was refilled. "The last thing I needed was a reminder of my big brother's freaking success. What a joke," he laughed to himself, scowling at the mug. "What a fucking joke."


	2. Chapter 1  Old Friends and New Lives

The words 'good morning' were an understatement for Melvin Hoffman, who descended the stairs of his elegant house with a slow gait. His maid returned the smile he gave her as she passed the man, a basket of laundry held on her hip. He nodded and she continued down the hallway, back to the screen door where the clothesline stood. When the tie was fixed, he took the last step down and turned down the same hallway, pushing his hair back and adjusting his suit. The sounds of a laughing infant came form the kitchen, a few coos from his wife following the baby's laughs. Smiling even wider, Melvin turned into the kitchen to see his wife, Siobhan, holding the boy up on her lap. Her red hair was cut short around her chin, curling three times before reaching its end. The infant was clothed in a black onesie, the fabric stopping at his elbows and knees. Siobhan smiled as the baby craned his neck to look around, the sprouting red hair messed in the back. Walking over, Melvin gently matted the hair back down and kissed the soft head. Smiling up at her husband, Siobhan turned the boy around and took one of the tiny hands, waving it up and down.

"Say good morning to daddy," she cooed. Opening his mouth in an 'O,' Melvin watched a premature smile come over the baby, whose arms moved up and down happily on their own. Smiling, Melvin kissed the baby's head again and pulled up the chair around the corner from Siobhan and sat, poking the small nose.

"Good morning, Seth," he smiled. Seth, the baby, caught sight of his own hand and stared at it, the smile fading from his face. Laughing, the couple looked up at one another and smiled, pecking the other on the cheek and sitting back. "Good morning Siobhan."

"Good morning, honey," she turned back to her son, straightening the onesie he was wearing. "When is the company coming over?"

"The invitations said one o'clock," he replied, standing and grabbing himself a piece of bread. "So I'm guessing around one."

"Good," she nodded, "because a call came from our lawyer."

"Mhm," he nodded impassively, taking a knife and passing it through the stick of butter next to the loaf and started to spread it over the bread.

"He wants to talk about the will," she explained. Melvin frowned, turning back to her, he thoughtfully took a bite.

"Already?" he asked. "We can't have one day of our son being a year old and we have to worry about a will?"

"I'm not saying we have to meet with him today," she replied calmly. "I'm simply passing on the message that you should get back to him."

"I will," he nodded, wiping off his hands.

"When?"

"Soon," he promised, a knock on the front door raising one of his own red eyebrows. Siobhan glanced in the direction of the front of the house quickly before giving her husband a quizzical look. "I'll get it," he patted her on the shoulder and exited the kitchen, making his way down the hallway. The knock came again and he frowned. "I'm coming," he called, glancing out the polished windows. The dark face outside was smiling up at the window, white teeth almost jumping out from the face. Laughing, Melvin pulled the door open, the dark-skinned man holding his arms out.

"Melvin!" He laughed, making the fair-skinned man break out into a laugh of his own.

"It's been a while, Taye," he smiled, embracing the other in a quick hug. "I take it your journey up here wasn't too much trouble?"

"Not at all," Taye waved, holding out a small wrapped box out to the taller man. "I'll just pretend like the nasty stares your people gave me were simply welcoming gifts." Laughing, Melvin took the box out of the man's hand and stepped aside, letting him in.

"I apologize," Melvin sighed, shutting the door behind the visitor. "Not everyone knows you like I do."  
>"It is fine," Taye looked up, examining the house. "This one is much better than the one you had down south," he mused. Smiling, the larger man placed one o f his hands on the small of the other's back, gesturing to the parlor.<p>

"Come and sit," he invited. "Siobhan is finishing up with breakfast."

"Oh, yes," he smiled, "how is your wife?"

"She's doing fine."

"And your son!" Taye exclaimed, reaching the parlor and turning to his old friend. "How is your son?"

"As healthy as ever," Melvin laughed, the sound of light feet padding down the hallway hushed the room. "There's Siobhan now." The tall woman appeared in the doorway, Seth tucked in the crook of her arm. The dark skinned man's eyes widened and he smiled.

"Look at him!" he breathed, "Such a healthy boy!"

"Hello, Taye," Siobhan smiled, letting the man hold the boy in his own arms. "How goes your ministering?" Looking up from the baby, Taye's face could only be described as gleeful.

"It goes wonderfully," he smiled, "Though the white population has died since you moved."

"Business is business," Melvin shrugged. "Do you need anything to drink? Or eat?"

"I am fine," the minister waved off. "More than fine. I'm sure that you have some more decorations to put up, don't you?"

"This is actually it," Siobhan laughed. "Our maid is currently making a cake." Nodding, Taye handed the baby back to his mother.

"It'll look more complete with guests," Melvin chuckled and Taye smiled up at him, looking about as gleeful as a child in a candy store. The two men turned to the baby almost simultaneously, watching as it slept in its mother's arms. The older and darker man looked up at his old friend, the smile faded. Melvin returned the look, the smile he wore on his face unchanging.

"Your son is going to be a great man," the older said quietly, a soft smile tinting the lips.

"I hope so," Melvin nodded, turning back to the boy. Siobhan moved to the window, peering out while the men spoke. Furrowing her eyebrows, she turned back to her husband and softly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Honey," she murmured, "where is your brother?"

"Isn't he here yet?" The questioned asked, turning around to peer out the window as well. "He'll probably be late. You know Slade, don't you?"

"Yes, but…"

"It'll be fine. He'll be here."


	3. Brooklyn Brats

"You oughta be in pictures," Slade called after a passing girl, who stopped and turned, her blonde hair flying out as she moved. Her eyebrows rose in unison as he grinned at her. He was lounging outside his small apartment on the west side of the Brooklyn Bridge, sitting sideways on the bench in front with one arm slung over the back of the joined seats. Pushing his trilby back to reveal a cocky grin stretching from his lips to the light green eyes above his high cheekbones, he let his moving finger trace down his forehead and over a thin scar that bore through his skin on the left eye, carefully letting his eyes examine the girl thoroughly. Her dark blue dress stopped just above her ankles, loose in the skirt but tight in the bodice.

"Excuse me?" She asked quietly, slightly shrinking away from the direction the voice came from. Slade's legs fell off of the seat of the bench and he leaned forward, resting both arms on the top of his knee caps. The hat slowly fell forward again, covering his eyebrows with shadows.

"I said you should be in pictures," he repeated louder, standing. At full height he was a good head taller than the girl, the shoes he was wearing adding about an inch of height to his frame. "A blonde like you? You'd be irresistible." Taking a protruding step forward, he watched her take one even to his away from him, the boots around her feet giving away her social class. _Definitely lower middle,_ Slade thought to himself. After so many years of living in the poorer side of the large city of New York, he'd perfected the art of looking at someone and guessing their social class. He'd only blundered twice. His voice dropped to the lower register as he moved closer to the girl again. "You already are just how you look now." She turned to run away, only to have her wrist firmly caught by the man talking to her.

"Let go!" She yelled, pulling at his grasp with what seemed to be all her might. Slade simply laughed, pulling her back to the bench.

"There's no need to yell," he said, his voice soft. "No one around here has the guts to stand up to me." He laughed and she cringed, her bottom finding the seat of the bench at the same time as his, her arm still tight in his grip.

"That's because you're not fair," she snapped. "You've done nothing for this city but make the crime rate rise."

"Oh shut up," he snapped, twisting her arm around behind her back and pressing her hand almost fully against her arm. A pained gasp came from her mouth and she froze, the feeling of her almost-breaking arm silencing her speech. "You think I'm not fair? Let me tell you something, sugar. Life's not fair." He pressed his fingers into her skin as she squirmed, trying to break free. "If you want an example, take a look at me." She slowly craned her neck to peer over her shoulder at the man. "You see, my father, being the incompetent prick he must've been, signed away every single piece of land and every cent of his oil company away to my fruitcake brother before I was born. Then before my mother could squeeze me out of her body in the disgusting process that is childbirth, he had the audacity to die." Pressing her hand farther down, he felt rage boiling in his stomach like it did every time he thought about his brother. "Unfortunately, before my mother could change the will that if anything happen to snoveling Melvin, the land and oil should go to me, she died in that process, leaving Melvin to take care of himself and me. Now that son of a bitch has a son, who now has a better chance at inheriting the land than I do. How's that for not fair?"

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that children should be seen and not heard?" A high pitched, accented voice asked from above the two. Rolling his eyes and sighing, Slade looked up at the small man, whose thick wired glasses were slowly falling down over the bridge of his nose. The lips of the new man were pursed tightly into a scowl, slight wrinkles forming around the crease between his cheek and nose. Large eyes stared scornfully down at the seated man, whose prey had stopped trying to break free.

"What do you want, Toby?" he sighed, peering up at the man from under the brim of his hat.

"I'm here to warn you that your brother, Melvin, is on his way." Scoffing, Slade turned his gaze away from him. "So you'd better have a good reason to skip the party this afternoon." As soon as his grip was loosened, the girl stood and fled, holding her skirt farther up to run faster. Scowling after her, Slade glared up at the standing man.

"Look what you did. You made me lose my fun." Toby laughed once, turning away from the bench and crossing his arms over his thin chest. The white shirt he'd pulled on that morning had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing wiry arms covered with dark hair that matched that of what sat atop his head.

"You'll lose more than that when your brother is through with you." He turned his head over his shoulder, a sharp chin brushing against fabric. "He's as mad as a hornet in church." Laughing, Slade held the fabric of his vest up with one hand and reached in with the other, finding a holstered pistol next to his chest.

"I'm shaking in my boots," he cooed sarcastically, standing. If he'd towered over the girl, he was a giant compared to the man, whose stature hadn't reached above five and a half feet. Behind the glasses, large, dark blue eyes widened and he stepped back, uncrossing his arms and holding them out cautiously.

"Now, Slade, there's no need to be hasty…" he yelped, taking a few steps backward before a hand appeared on his shoulder and he was spun around, the arm which the hand was attached to wrapping itself around his thin neck.

"That's **Mister** Slade to you," Slade hissed in his ear, still holding the butt of the gun under his vest.

"Slade," a deeper, sterner voice boomed from farther down the street. Both men stopped and peered down the road, where a stronger built man stood under the closest street lamp. Even with the poor lighting, Slade could see his dark brown eyes were slit and filled with anger, though his grip on Toby failed to loosen. The man's body was swathed in a spotless black suit, showing off his social rank without having to try. "Drop him." Scoffing, Slade pulled his hand out of his vest and pushed the scrawny one forward, crossing his arms over his chest. Toby stumbled forward a few steps before catching himself, standing straight and pulling the bowtie around his neck tighter.

"Impeccable timing, sir," he nodded to the larger man, who stepped out of the light of the lamp and took a few steps closer to his brother. Slade pushed his hat up again to sit on the crown of his head so he could fully examine the tired face of the newcomer.

"Why if it isn't my big brother traveling all the way to the west side of Brooklyn to mingle with the common man," he smiled insincerely. A growl came from the back of Melvin's throat and he curled a large fist, his nose wrinkling. "To what occasion should I toast tonight?"

"Siobhan and I didn't see you at Seth's party this afternoon," Melvin said bluntly, disappointment thick in his voice. Clearing his face, Slade let his mouth open in a silent 'O.'

"Was that today?" He asked, feigning innocence. He grimaced and let his head drop into one of his hands, covering up his eyes and forehead. "Oh, I feel simply **awful**." Keeping the pose for a second longer, he straightened into an expressionless look and waved it off before re-crossing the arms. "It must've slipped my mind."

"As slippery as your mind is, you're Melvin's brother," Toby snapped, taking a warning step toward the taller man. "You should've been first in line with a gift in hand." A simple grin from Slade sent him quivering back to Melvin's side. The grin faded and he closed the distance between himself and his brother, a bitter sneer taking the place of the grin.

"I was first in line," he spat. "Until that little monstrosity was born."

"That little monstrosity is my son," Melvin snapped, pushing Toby behind himself and taking a step closer to Slade. The two noses were at an even height, brown eyes staring into green. "And your future boss."

"Let me go practice my manners," Slade retorted, turning to walk away.

"Don't walk away from me, Slade," Melvin called, following at a distance.

"I think you're mistaken, brother," the younger turned, still craning his neck to look at the older. "Maybe you shouldn't walk away from me."

"Is that a threat?" The older snapped, closing the distance to tower over his younger brother.

"Temper, please," Slade smiled knowing exactly where he stood with his brother's anger. "I wouldn't dream of threatening you."

"Pity," Toby sneered, still following behind his boss' shoulder. "Why not?" Leaning over his brother's arm, Slade grinned into the little man's face.

"Because, when it comes to brains, I got the man's share, but when it comes to brute strength…" he stopped and glared at his brother, whose face remained unchanged. "I'm afraid I'm at the shallow end of the gene pool." Patting his brother's toned cheek and walking away, Slade shook his head, disgusted. Melvin watched him as he left, a thousand nasty sayings roaring in his head. As soon as the man turned the corner, Toby stepped to the side of his boss and patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"There's one in every family, sir," he sighed, glaring at the space in which Slade had recently occupied. "Two in mine. They always manage to ruin Christmas for us." Melvin sighed, his shoulders drooping.  
>"What am I going to do with him?" He sighed.<p>

"He'd make a very handsome servant," Toby suggested, shrugging.

"Toby," Melvin smiled, looking down at his assistant. Smiling back up at the man, Toby turned and started to walk back to the car.

"Just think; every time he misbehaves, you could take him out back and beat him."

Melvin laughed and climbed in the driver's seat of the Ford, waiting until Toby was secured in his seat before driving away.

The old man Taye chuckled to himself as he climbed on a public bus, slowly limping to the back seats. His knee never enjoyed summertime, as with the rest of his joints. A slow sigh came through his nose as he sat, tired eyes staring at the floor in front of him. The engine roared to a start and the vehicle lurched forward like a hippopotamus coming forth from a mud bath. Everyone on the bus seemed to be lost in their own thoughts, silence quickly laying over them like a thick blanket. A slow smile crept across his features and he chuckled, those seated around him shooting him quizzical glances.

"Seth." he smiled, his shoulders moving with each laugh. As he calmed, he turned his eyes out the window, watching as the street lamps moved from one side of the window to the other, leaving the big city of New York behind him once again.


	4. Youth in Action

Light feet padded along the hardwood interior of the large estate, the uncovered toes crinkling every time they pushed off the wood. A head of shaggy red hair flipped out behind the small head, a grin on the soft features. The shorts he wore, which were two sizes too big for him, started to sag as he ran down the stairs, one hand firmly grasping the handrail to his right while the other pulled up the waist of his pants. At the base of the stairs, his father and mother were standing next to each other, Siobhan tightening the tie that Melvin had around his neck. At the sound of his feet, the two looked up and smiled, stepping apart as he came to a stop at the base of the stairs.

"Good morning, Seth," Melvin smiled, watching as his son's bright blue eyes were turned up toward him, the freckles on his high cheekbones more obvious in the early summer sun.

"Morning, father," he smiled back, turning to Siobhan, "mother."

"Good morning, sweetie. Isabel has eggs in the kitchen," Siobhan offered, the boy shaking his head earnestly.

"I'm not hungry," he smiled up at her before turning to his father. "Are we going today, dad?" Melvin sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. Thin shoulders sagged as Seth frowned. "You promised," he tried again, a thin lower lip pouting. Turning to his wife, Melvin sighed and crouched, placing a strong hand on his son's shoulder. Siobhan let out a heavy breath and turned to the hallway, quickly returning to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, Seth," he said sternly, "but I have to - ,"

"Go to the office," Seth sighed, looking down. "I know." Melvin watched the freckled face fall and he sighed, straightening and ruffling the boy's hair.

"Tomorrow,"

"I promise," Seth finished for him turning his head away and crossing his arms over his chest. "You say that all the time but we never go." Smiling softly, the man crouched again and pulled his son's chin toward him, forcing Seth's gaze to meet his. The boy's large blue eyes met with the large brown ones that stared back, one set upset and the other calmed.

"I'll skip the end of work and get the tickets," Melvin told him with a childish grin.

"You promise?" Seth brightened slightly, his eyebrows rising.

"I promise."

"Toby won't be going with us, will he?" The boy whined, sudden and absolute dread in his voice. Laughing, Melvin stood and lifted his leather briefcase off the floor.

"No, it'll be you and me." Seth smiled and threw his arms around his father's leg, squeezing tightly.

"Yay!" he laughed, looking up. "I can't wait!" Melvin laughed and ruffled the boy's hair again, a stray red strand flying away.

"Now go eat your breakfast," he ordered, watching Seth pull away from his father and nod. "I'll be back at the usual time." Saluting, the boy watched his father mimic the action before turning and walking down the sidewalk. As soon as the heavy door was shut, Seth took a few steps forward and peered out the side window, watching his father approach the Ford waiting for him. Toby emerged from the driver's side at Melvin's gesture and tossed the keys to the larger man, hurrying over to the passenger's side. Another pair of feet scrambled toward where Seth stood and he turned to see a girl his age running to him, her bright blonde hair pulled back into a short braid. He smiled and took a step away from the window as she came to a stop, the light blue dress she wore flowing out at the sudden movement.

"Come on, Seth!" She urged, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the kitchen, where she came from. "Mother says the faster you eat your breakfast the faster we can go outside!"

"Okay, okay!" Seth laughed, following her into the kitchen, where his mother and the girl's mother sat at the table, chatting idly. Smiling, Siobhan pushed a plate closer to the edge of the table as he climbed into his own chair, folding his legs underneath his body to be able to eat. The second woman pulled out a chair for the girl, watching as she did the same.

"Can we go outside yet?" The small girl asked, looking up at her mother, who simply laughed.

"Ivy, Seth's barely taken a bite of his eggs," Isabel smiled as Ivy frowned; setting her elbows on the table and watching her friend eat. Seth glanced up at her and smiled, though her face didn't change. Laughing again, Isabel turned back to Siobhan and they continued their gossip.

"Hurry up, Seth," Ivy hissed. "I want to go play!"

"So do I," he hissed back, shoving the forkful into his mouth before quickly refilling the utensil. His blue eyes shot up to his mother, who was busy talking with Isabel. As soon as the second load of eggs was put away, he pushed his plate away and scooted the carefully crafted chair away from the table. Ivy smiled and also hopped down, already moving toward the hallway as Seth turned to his mother. "We'll be back for dinner," he smiled, turning and running after the girl.

Both women watched the children leave, a mixture of surprise and amusement on their lips. Isabel laughed quietly.

"They're soul mates," she joked, sending Siobhan into a fit of giggles.

"Don't wish their lives away," the other woman smiled when she calmed herself. "I'm sure they'll come to that revelation when they're older."


	5. Yankee Fever

**Hello! Thank you all for the reviews and comments, you don't know how much it means to me. **

**I can't really understand why it took me so long to write this. I suppose it's because of school, mainly, people's issues, and, I can't stress this more, I have the knack for getting an awful writer's block every once in a few months. Thank you for being so patient, though. It means the world to me :)**

Dawn broke through the horizon around six o'clock the next morning, tinting the clouds overhead many different colors. Some turned red, others turned yellow, but Seth, as he watched the different colors from his bedroom window, was amazed to see the pink shades reflected on the clouds. His thin lips were turned up in a smile as he held his chin up over the windowsill, trying to find the exact moment the sun poked its head up above where the land met the sky. Stumbling a moment, he returned his balance to his tiptoes, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. The hardwood floor was cold under his bare feet, as it was every morning before the radiators were turned on. He relaxed flat on his feet, crossing thin arms over a thin chest and pouting his lip out. _Time moves ever so slowly for impatient minds,_ he heard Toby chiding in his mind and he rolled his eyes, walking over to his closet. A new Yankees jersey was hung near the bottom and he pulled it off the hanger, slipping his arms in and pulling the baggy article of clothing over his undershirt. He crouched, pulling out a clean pair of shorts and pulling them on over the underwear he wore. Turning to the mirror propped up against the wall next to his door, he smiled and stood on his tiptoes, barely reaching the doorknob and twisting it open. He burst out of the room and down the hallway, taking a left turn at the end of the hallway to another door. Repeating the same motions to open the door in front of him, he ran in and jumped on the king sized bed that his parents slept in.

"Dad!" He hissed, shaking the man, whose face contorted while his breathing remained the same. Frowning, the boy tried again. "Dad, wake up! Come on, we've got to go!" Sighing in his half-awake state, Melvin turned and glanced at the clock on the side table. It took a moment of getting his eyes to try and read in the dim light, but he managed to see the hour hand pointed down to the six and the minute hand cocked off to the two. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes and looked past his son to his wife, who was obviously awake but trying to act like she was asleep. The boy that had penetrated the peace of the bed continued to harass his father, using different tones to get his point across. Siobhan smiled, tiredly turning to her husband.

"Your son is awake," she informed him quietly. Reclosing his eyes tiredly, Melvin rubbed his forehead.

"Before sunrise, he's your son," he retorted. Frowning, Seth sat back, landing on his father's stomach. Coughing, Melvin opened one eye to look at his son, whose face was drawn into a frown.

"You promised," the boy drawled, looking absolutely and utterly disgusted with his father's reluctance. "You said we'd leave at sunrise and the sun is up." Quickly trying to sit up, the man held his hands up in surrender.

"Okay, okay," he said just as fast. "I'm up, I'm up." The look of disgust vanished from the boy's face and he smiled, hopping off the bed and hitting the floor running.

"Yay!" he yelled as he quickly descended the stairs. Looking at his wife, Melvin leaned over and kissed her forehead quickly before swinging his legs out of bed.

"I suppose we'll be back either this afternoon or tonight," he said quietly, slipping his feet into his slippers before slowly swaggering to the closet.

"Don't rush home," Siobhan muttered tiredly, turning away from the window. "I'll be enjoying a day of quiet." Laughing, Melvin disappeared into the closet to adorn himself with whatever he found suitable.

Seth bustled in the entryway, pacing from one side of the door to the other, impatiently waiting for his father to come down the stairs. Every three steps, he'd stop and stare at the stairs for a moment before continuing on his short way. It only took a few minutes before the heavy footfalls of his father started down the stairs, stopping the child in his tracks. Looking up, he smiled as the tired face of his father appeared, still riddled with sleep. He quickly scurried to the back door where his shoes lay in a pile, quickly discarded the day before. Melvin watched the young boy quickly fall back on his bottom to pull his shoes on, a smile hinting at his lips. The boy, eager to get going, took a look out the window. The sun he'd been so diligently waiting for was now almost a quarter of the way up, the circle still cut off at the horizon. He quickly stood and walked back over to his father.

"Can we go now?" He asked. Melvin shot a glance out the window and nodded, the sight of Toby pulling up in a black car signaling their leave. Pulling the door open, he watched as Seth hurried out only to stop after setting one foot out of the weather strip. The sight of Toby brought a sinking feeling to his stomach and he turned back to his father. "You said Toby wouldn't be coming with us," he drawled, scowling.

"He isn't," Melvin assured him with a smile. "He's simply dropping off the new car." Surprised, Seth looked at the car Toby stood at, busily scrawling things down in a notepad. It did look…different. The cab was bigger, leaving space for four passengers with some room still left over behind the second row of seats. It also sat lower, not to mention there was more room for the engine. Feeling the stare of the two, Toby looked up, quickly pushing the notepad back into the back pocket of the trousers he wore. He scurried over, talking as he moved.

"Here it is, sir," he smiled proudly. "The 1924 Chrysler Six." Melvin smiled as he looked at the car, nodding in approval.

"Thank you, Toby," the older man nodded. "Siobhan will be home all day. If you have any problems, please bring them to her."

"Yes sir," he nodded. Melvin stepped outside, leaving enough room for the smaller man to make it into the house. As he passed, he held out the keys for the new car. Melvin took them with a smile, looking back down at his son. He was surprised to see an impatient look.

"Can we go _now_?" Seth crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. Smiling, Melvin nodded and started toward the vehicle. He barely had to crane his legs to open the door, pulling the handle down and letting the metal swing open. The engine coughed and growled as his father turned the key, but the boy's thoughts were far away. He twisted in his seat to try and see the stadium, the top of the building barely visible above the hills.

As the car started to move, he sat forward in his chair, his hands on his knees. He bounced slightly, excited to get out of the estate. It took almost three minutes before they reached the end of their property, the house secluded from everyday New York life. Seth watched his father's face as they turned onto the main street, the man's arms slightly fighting against the steering wheel.

"Where are we going first?" Seth asked, simply happy that they were finally in the car.

"Work," his father replied, smiling at the pouted lip Seth directed at him. "Don't give me that. I want to show you something."

"But we will get to see the Yankees, right?"

"Yes, son," Melvin reached over and ruffled his son's red hair. "But we have almost six hours until they start batting practice."

The oil company was not officially located in New York. The oil was milled far from where the Hoffman family lived, in Texas. However, the building that Seth's father worked in was almost in downtown, towering above the mere streets with an air of importance. The only indication of its purpose was a plaque nailed to the side of the doorway. The plaque, which towered above Seth's head, could barley be read by the boy, who stood on his tiptoes in an attempt to see it. The feeling of hands around his stomach made him smile. His feet left the ground and soon the letters were easy to see.

"Hoffman Oil Company," he read quietly to himself, making out the words with his lips before applying his vocal chords. Squinting at the words underneath, he leaned his chin back to look at his father. "What does EST mean?"

"Established," Melvin filled in. The only response given was a blank stare. "It means 'made in'."

"Oh," Seth smiled, redirecting his gaze to the square. "Established," his lips tripped over the new word, "in 1887." He frowned. "When was that?"

"Before you were born," his father replied, setting the boy down. He chuckled and opened the heavy wooden door. "That was before I was born, too." Seth looked up at his father, his eyes wide. "What? I'm not that old."

"That must've been a long time ago," Seth muttered under his breath, entering the building. Almost immediately he was greeted with the smell of paper, ink, and leather chairs. He looked around, neatly organized desks evenly spaced throughout the room. The shadow of his father's hand appeared over his face and he looked up to see Melvin's smiling face.

"I want to show you something," Melvin said, smiling as the boy took his hand and squeezed. The man led the boy upstairs, past more desks and meeting rooms, cubes, and seemingly empty floors. Seth's eyes were big as plates, watching the different shaded rooms go by.

When Melvin stopped, the boy looked up. In the man's other hand was a ring of keys, jingling as he fumbled for the right piece of metal. The boy watched as his father found the right one and jammed it into the lock, twisting it open. The door swung open. On the other side, the sun greeted them, still red with the new day. Seth squinted, trying to save his eyes from the brightness. Melvin smiled, taking his son's hand and leading him to the edge of the roof.

"Look, Seth," the deep voice was quiet. Looking up at his father, the boy followed the stern gaze out over New York. "Everything on this side of the island is your home." Seth's eyes grew wide.

"Wow," he breathed.

"A man's time on this earth comes and goes like the sun," he continued, looking down at his son. "One day, Seth, the sun will set on my time here, and will shine even brighter on yours." Blinking, Seth returned his gaze to the city.

"And this is my home?" He asked.

"New York City has been very good to our family," Melvin replied. "It is the least we can do to be a part of it as much as we can."

"Every part of it?" Seth asked. His father nodded. He looked back out, his eyes catching the land that the Brooklyn Bridge connected to the mainland. "What's over there?"

"That's beyond our home," Melvin said sternly, the grip on his son's hand tightening ever so slightly. "Never go there without me or Toby."

"But I thought we could do whatever we want," Seth craned his neck back to raise his eyebrow at his father. Melvin laughed.

"There's more to being a Hoffman than doing whatever we want," he smiled, guiding the boy back to the building.

"Really?" the boy's face lit up. The man's hand found the door back inside and he twisted the knob, pulling the metal open to let his son in first.

"Yes," Melvin laughed, following the redhead down the stairs. "Everything that happens happens for a reason. As the leader of not only the empire your grandfather built but a citizen of this country, you must understand that. Every human being is important, from the bum on the street to the President." Stopping at the bottom, Seth turned to give his father a skeptical look.

"But dad-,"

"No buts," the father chided, starting back down the ground level. "My father taught me this and his father before him when they came over the ocean." He stopped to smile at his son. "Remember this, and you'll be a good man."

Seth nodded, taking his father's hand.

"Just like you," he smiled. The man's laugh boomed throughout the empty building.


	6. Real Gangsters

The usual cold concrete had been warmed from the sun, a comfortable feeling on the sitter's bottom. Seth sat with Melvin, his hand clutched around a vanilla ice cream cone, the once-frozen treat now slowly melting. People passed by quickly, either late for work or leaving Yankee Stadium after a satisfying victory for the home team. On Seth's lap sat an old glove, worn from use and barely holding on by its seams. Kicking his feet back and forth, the boy looked up at his father, whose baseball hat had been pushed back onto the crown of his head to be able to see better.

"What're you looking at?" Seth asked, almost forgetting to lick his ice cream before it dripped onto his father's old glove.

"People," Melvin replied, giving his son a sly grin. "Maybe we'll see Miller Huggins."

"Who?" Seth's eyebrows raised.

"The manager," the father smiled. "He can sign your ball for you." Seth smiled wide and looked at his glove. Inside laid a foul ball hit by Babe Ruth himself, one that Melvin had caught for the boy. "How would that be?"

"That'd be so cool, dad," Seth's mind started moving faster than he could follow. He babbled quietly to himself while Melvin continued to crane his neck. A familiar face stuck out in the crowd, bobbing up and down as the man clearly tried to find who he was looking for. Sighing, Melvin returned his glance to Seth. If only there was some way to distract either of the two so that they wouldn't see each other…

"Sir!" Toby's yell carried across the pedestrian noise, bringing Melvin's thoughts back to reality. The small man pushed his way through the crowd to stand in front of the two. It was all Melvin could do not to look down at his son to see the disappointed expression he wore. "Good afternoon, sir!"

"Good afternoon, Toby," Melvin's voice was calm and polite. Just because he wasn't currently working didn't mean he didn't have to keep up airs.

"I thought I'd stop by to fill you in on today's goings on," the small man smiled. Taking a hasty look at Seth, Melvin sighed.

"Fire away," he muttered.

"Well, the buzz would be that Rockefeller has found a new place to drill for oil," Toby straightened as he spoke, as if simply talking would make him feel more important.

"Oh really," Melvin sighed again, watching as Seth crumpled the paper from his hot dog and tossed it at the closest garbage can. When the unneeded paper bounced off and onto the ground, the boy's shoulders sagged and he set his glove and ice cream down. He stood, taking five steps over to the litter and picking it up before returning to his spot to try again. After three more tries, Melvin leaned over to his son. "What are you doing, son?" he asked.

"Throwing," Seth replied innocently, trying to mask his disappointment. Taking a quick look back at Toby, who was still lost in his own world, Melvin took his son's shoulders and turned him to the babbling man.

"Let me show you how your father does it," he hissed. Instantly Seth's ears perked up and he sat higher, letting his father take his paper from him. "Toby, would you turn around?" he raised his voice to his secretary.

"Yes sir," Toby nodded, taking a break from his rambling for the two words. He continued as soon as the two were out of sight. Melvin leaned over once again, taking his son's elbows and guiding him through the motions.

"Keep your elbow back," he said quietly, pulling the boy's hand into a ninety-degree angle. "Hand up,"

"Elbow back, hand up," Seth whispered, focusing on the back of Toby's head. Feeling as if he was being talked about, the small man stole a glance over his shoulder.

"What's going on, sir?" He asked.

"A throwing lesson," Melvin told him calmly, adjusting Seth's arm.

"Oh, very good," Toby nodded, turning away again. "Throwing." A moment passed and he turned around again, his eyes wide. "Throwing what?" His eyes locked on the messy paper and his face fell. "Sir, you can't be serious…"

"Turn around, Toby," Melvin reiterated, spinning his finger in a circle to get his point across.

"I don't even know where that's been…" the man whined, turning his back to his boss.

"Rear back and release when your hand passes your eyes," Melvin instructed his son. A quick nod was proof enough that the boy was concentrating.

"What are you telling him, sir?" Toby asked, not turning around. The slight pad of a piece of paper hitting the back of his head made his shoulders slump and he turned, unaware of the mustard smeared across his back. Melvin's deep laugh accompanied the boy's high pitched tone as Toby removed his glasses to quickly clean them.

"That was very good, Seth," Melvin patted his son's small back, the sound of a car pulling up on the side of the road background noise until the driver emerged and joined the small group.

"Toby!" The driver said curtly, waiting until the humiliated man turned to face him to go on, "News from the field."

"Yes?" Toby asked, tuning out the coaching his boss was telling his son. "What is it?"

"There's been a blow in one of the pipes. There's oil going everywhere."

Toby froze, taking a moment to process the words. He turned on his heel, facing the other two.

"Sir!" He screeched, bringing Melvin's eyes from his son to the man in front of him. "Pipe leak!"

Melvin's face cleared, standing quickly. Watching his father, Seth hopped to his feet. The car man turned and opened the door to his automobile before running over to his respective side and opening the other.

"Toby, take Seth to the office," Melvin ordered, bending to fit into the car.

"Aw, dad, can't I come with?" Seth whined, standing in the way of the door.

"No, son," his father said sternly, gently placing a hand on the boy's stomach and pushing him back. As soon as he was out of the way, the man pulled the door shut with a slam. A moment passed before the engine roared and the car peeled away from the curb, leaving Toby and Seth in the smoke. Seth coughed, covering his mouth with his tiny hand. He scowled after the car.

"I never get to go anywhere," he muttered. Toby smiled and patted the boy's shoulder.

"Oh, young sir, one day you'll be the boss and then you'll get to go anywhere you want," he offered, watching the boy turn and stuff his hands in his pockets. The man followed the boy, pulling a hand out of the boy's pocket and taking it in his own. Seth looked up at Toby, watching the slim smile for a moment before looking dejectedly back at the ground. Toby sighed, staring straight ahead before a familiar face came into view.

"Look, Seth," he crouched, pointing, "it's Miller Huggins!" Seth's eyes shot up to the man and his face fell, turning back to the baseball his father gave him. Seeing the ball, Toby took it and pulled the boy to the man. "I'll get it signed for you."

Seth frowned, "I wanted dad to get it signed," he muttered when he was sure Toby couldn't hear him.

Slade pushed the brim of his hat out of his eyes, squinting in the sunlight to look up at the new building. Returning his hand to his pocket, he absently gnawed on the side of his lip. The brick building's windows shone in the evening sun, reflecting the dark pinks and reds in the sunset. Bile rose in his throat as he stared, pulling his face into a deep scowl. He turned and spit out the side of his mouth, pushing his trilby back over his eyes as he did so. It was a long cab drive from Queens to New York City and it sure cost a pretty penny make the journey. His brother's call had been out of the blue, but the man had no excuse to get out of babysitting. All he hoped was that the annoying boy Melvin kept around would take care of the boy and he could take a nape on the way home. A passing couple's conversation quieted as they neared and Slade looked up, meeting their disapproving eyes. They were dressed nicely, the woman in an evening gown and the man in a pressed suit. Slade knew exactly what they were thinking. His white shirt, wrinkled pants, and unused suspenders hanging at his sides weren't exactly west-of-the-bridge attire. He snarled, starting at the two. Jumping back, the couple hurried away. Muttering to himself, he pulled the suspenders up over his shoulders and rubbed the scar over his left eye.

"Uncle Slade?" A small voice from behind him piped up, making him turn. A scrawny man holding the hand of a small boy was approaching him, the boy leading the man. He forced a smile to his face as the boy broke away and charged, coming to a crash with the man's legs. Seth looked up, grinning like a hyena. "Hey, uncle Slade, guess what?"

"You know I despise the guessing game," Slade muttered as Seth pulled away, puffing his chest out.

"I'm gonna own the oil business," the boy beamed proudly. Slade glared.

"Oh, goody," he spat, watching as Toby sidestepped the two and entered the building.

"My dad was showing me the whole city today," Seth continued. "And I'm gonna be on top of it all."

"Yes," Slade growled, scratching at his suspender. "Well excuse me for not leaping for joy," he turned away from the boy, holding his lower back. "Bad back, you know."

"Hey, uncle Slade," Seth asked, skipping over to his uncle and standing in front of him and looking up, "when I'm boss, what'll that make you?"

"The same thing I am today," Slade retorted, sneering down at the boy. "The bastard child of a dumb man and an even dumber woman." The boy stared up at the man for a moment before laughing.

"You're so weird," the boy smiled, looking down at his baseball.

"You have no idea," Slade shook his head, turning to watch the boy for a moment. Silence grew between the two, the wheels turning in the man's head. He imagined the boy's funeral, opening up the company to himself. He smiled. Melvin and Siobahn would be heartbroken. The thought made him smile even wider. Crossing his arms over his chest, he faced the lovely Brooklyn Bridge. He knew of his brother's hate for the people on the other side. Especially the ones with whom the younger of the two enjoyed spending time. He turned back to Seth, who was slowly turning the ball in his hands. "So your father showed you the city today?"

"Yep," Seth nodded, rocking back and forth on his heels. "At least on this side of Central Park."

"Oh really?" Slade grinned, nodding to the Bridge. "Did he show you what's on the far side of that bridge?" Seth stopped, frowning down at his feet.

"Well, no," the boy said sheepishly. "He said I can't go there."

"And he's absolutely right!" Slade interjected, turning around. "It's far too dangerous. Only the bravest men go there." Seth's ears perked up and he looked at his uncle.

"Well I'm brave," the boy said indignantly. "What's over there?"

"Oh no, Seth, I promised my brother I wouldn't tell you."

"Why not?" The boy ran in front of the man, crossing his arms over his own chest. Slade raised an eyebrow and looked down at the boy.

"I'm only looking out for the well-being of my favorite nephew," he sneered.

"I'm your only nephew," the boy reminded him.

"Well, all the more reason for me to protect you!" He grinned. "The gangsters would eat you up over there."

"Gangsters?" Seth asked, his ears perking up once again.

"Did I say gangsters?" Slade backtracked, covering his hand with his mouth. "Oh dear, I've said too much." He looked down at his nephew and ruffled the red hair. "I'm sure you would've found out sooner or later, you being so _clever_." He crouched and poked the small forehead. "Just promise me you'll _never_ go to that _awful_ place." Seth stared at him for a moment before his eyes darted back to the bridge. He turned back to Slade and sported his best smile.

"I promise," he said sweetly. Slade returned the smile and stood.

"There's a good boy," he looked up to see Toby walking out of the building. "Now run along and go home with Toby." Too sidetracked to complain, the boy trotted off to the smaller man's side. Slade watched him go, tapping the toe of his shoe on the asphalt. As soon as they crawled into the car waiting for them, he turned and grinned, pulling the suspenders off his shoulders. The sun was almost all the way behind the horizon, the streetlamps slowly spreading light throughout the city.

"Our little secret," he muttered, raising his arm as a cab came into sight. "That's rich."


End file.
